


Transformers: Prodigy

by Mkresh_Nek_Galdarsk



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-21
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-05-02 15:56:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5254337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mkresh_Nek_Galdarsk/pseuds/Mkresh_Nek_Galdarsk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>800 years has passed since Unicron's Anti-spark had been sealed and the Well of Allsparks had been re-ignited. New generations of Transformers have joined the old to finally rebuild Cybertron in the aftermath of the Great War. One such new Autobot is Impact, trained from birth by Ultra Magnus to hunt the last of the Decepticons. His story begins on a new, alien world...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The forest was abuzz with chaotic chatter; not once has it ceased speaking. Organic life screamed and squawked in the thick, impenetrable canopy above. Below, the debris-laden ground was filled with scurrying rodents. Strange reptiles, with lighting-fast limbs and mouths large enough to swallow said rodents whole, struck at their prey as they fled from cover. Between the two places stood the twisted boughs of magnificent trees, jutting from the earth in malformed, ash-grey spires. Their branches, covered in lavender leaves, mingled and locked with others, forming an interwoven tapestry of chaos that allowed almost no light from the sun to pass through. Because of such, the night lasted forever here, and it's inhabitants have found ways of navigation without the use of the life-giving star that, by now, hovered high in the sky. The air was so thick with humidity, one could hardly breathe without the fear of drowning. Survival in such a hostile environment would be nigh-impossible... unless one was _built_ for the task.

A small quake begat the attention of the animals that inhabited the forest floor. They froze in their tracks, waiting. Another quake. The animals turned and fled, digging into burrows under the thick root of the trees, or taking flight to the vast, blue sky. They cowered in the confines of their hiding places, daring not to make a sound, as the steady tempo of quakes became louder and louder, until the trespasser was in sight.

It was not a creature of flesh and bone, of sinew and blood. Instead, the disturbance was a figure of metal, his cold skin gleaming dully in what little light bled from the canopy. It was the color of dark grey, with stripes and highlights of maroon, painted on in a hard, geometric fashion. His face was held in a steely mask of indifference as he swiveled his head, cooly scanning the passing vegetation with two perfect circles of light that glowed a soft white. He tread ever onward through the forest, stepping over broad tree roots with machine precision. Considering the magnitude of his form, one would assume he paid no mind to the animals below, their forms insignificant in comparison. But, in truth, he was exceptionally aware of them as he made countless mental notes of their appearances and habits.

The being stopped in his tracks, articulators grinding to a halt. After taking a moment to survey his immediate surroundings, he pulled out a flat device from a compartment in his left thigh. The blue screen glowed softly, relaying information that he’d already written down. Bringing up his free hand, he pressed the alien runes below the screen in quick succession with his cumbersome digits.

_Impact’s Log, Solar Cycle 62_

_Little to report today. An additional 23.7 square kilometers of the southeast quadrant have been explored and mapped so far, and I expect another 17 will be completed before I must power down. Returning to camp is not possible this solar cycle, due to distance and rate of Energon depletion. The topography remains largely unchanged. I have catalogued two new organic creatures, one semi-avian and the other a burrower. Greater detail will be divulged in a separate log._

_My ship’s orbital scan indicates that a communal hub of intelligent, indigenous life-forms lies approximately 27 kilometers from my current position in my direction of travel, beyond the forest. As such, after completion of today’s mapping, I shall establish a border and resume exploration in another quadrant. Avoiding contact with the natives remains a top priority, as per Autobot Exploration Directive: Article 5, Sec-_

A disturbance behind him drew his attention. He whipped his head around and moved his hand to the weighty hammer on his hip. The ever-present darkness made it difficult to see, but his piercing gaze could still make out the endless expanse of shadowy pillars. After a brief moment of tension, allowing the pervasive ambiance of the forest to fill his audio receptors, he concluded that there was no immediate threat. His metal shoulders relaxed and he resumed scribing his report.

_It may be worth noting that I have not sighted any of the larger browsing animals in my path today. The fauna that they seem to mainly subsist upon is ever-present and healthy, but it remains practically untouched. Something is keeping those animals from thriving here. It is a strong possibility that larger predators exists, though I have yet to see one. It would have to be very powerful to take down one of the browsers. Although unlikely, such a creature could pose a threat. I will have to proceed with extra caution._

He paused for a moment, as if unsure whether or not to continue. Then, he added:

_This is a savage and relentless world. Any Cybertronian, Decepticon or Autobot, would have left before the humidity rusted them solid. Establishing any base of operation on this planet, regardless of its proximity to Cybertron, is, by all accounts, tactically unsound. I do not discount the threat of an attack, but I strongly feel that my skills would be of better use elsewhere._

No sooner had he typed that last passage than he immediately erased it. It was the same passage he'd typed at the end of his reports for the last 29 solar cycles, and not one of those instances had he let it stick. Protesting his mission would not contribute anything to the Autobot cause, nor would it expedite his tour of duty. Only one hundred solar cycles and no trace of Decepticon activity would relieve him of his time here and allow him to report back to Cybertron. Looking at his chagrin, dictated on his notepad, allowed him to cope a little.

His free hand wandered above his chest. Dangling around his neck on a chain were several metal spheres. They clinked together as he grasped the centerpiece of the necklace: a shimmering cylinder with a dark, glass bottom. His whirring fingers cradled the object as he stared into its glossy abyss. Locked and fixated, the figure was a statue; cut off from the rest of reality. The animal callings above, the rustling and shifting below, the oppressive dampness that constantly assaulted his silvery body were all forgotten. For the moment, all there seemed to be was him and the trinket between his digits.

The moment ended and he snapped back to attention. Awareness of his surroundings, once again, filled his mind. Turning his attention back to the glowing device, he re-read his log entry before writing his conclusion and continuing his trek through the umbral forest.

_Impact, signing off._

* * *

"C'mon, Fusahs!"

"W-wait! We shouldn't... we should go back!"

"Don't be such a spawnling! We're almost there!"

"You said that ten minutes ago! Ri'tori! I... I can't keep running like this!"

"It's good exercise! It'll be worth it in the end, you'll see!"

"I can hardly -see- anything- OOF! Ouch... It's nighttime and we're in the Shadowgrove! No one is supposed to be here even during the day!"

"That means nobody will follow us. You were the one who wanted some peace and quiet."

"I-I didn't think we'd be breaking the law for it!"

"We're already breaking the law!!!"

"..."

"I'm... I'm sorry, Fus. I didn't mean to scream at you "

"Ri'tori..."

"I'm just... rrgggg! I'm so angry it has to be this way! It's not fair..."

"Ri'tori, look!"

"What? Oh... woah... what is that?"

"It looks like... a small house?"

"Not even a royal guard would want to live in something that small. What makes you think it's a house?"

"It has a door, and it's... open?"

"...Let's go check it out!"

"Wh-what?! Are you crazy?!?"

"No, I'm cold and getting colder. It looks cozy enough."

"It looks like it's made of metal... Ri, we don't even know what it is, and if it is a house, it probably belongs to someone! What if we get caught? What if we-"

"Hey, hey... shhhh... Fusahs, don't worry. It's just you and me out here, remember? It's gonna be alright..."

"Ri, I...

"Come on, just a quick peek, and it's back on track, okay?"

"O-okay..."

"Hey."

"Hm?"

"I love you."

"...I love you, too."


	2. Chapter 2

The first thing Impact realized when he silently powered back on was that he had made a mistake. No, he had made several of them; mistakes that would have been inexcusable, even for a protoform. That, compounded by the fact that he had reminded himself to exercise additional caution in this area--due to its proximity to the natives and the supposed predator--and promptly disregarded his own forethought. The monotony of his task had lulled him into a false sense of security and jeopardized one of the primary directives of his mission.

Ultra Magnus would not have been pleased, to say the least.

His first mistake was his location. Little forethought was put into finding a place with adequate cover to, even partially, hide his rather immense alt-mode. Though the impenetrable canopy overhead would have made him virtually invisible to anyone or anything flying overhead, the lack of heavy brush on the ground made him stand out like a gold-plated chassis in the middle of the Sea of Rust. Though he had partially sunk himself into a natural ditch, it only covered him up to his wheels. That was only the first part, though. In his haste to power down, he had mis-transformed. The rear entrance of his vehicle mode was left partially open--a fault akin to a certain Earth species committing what is known to them as “enuresis”--as made evident by the invasion of the two creatures into his interior.

Oh, and they were sentient. So much for the Autobot Exploration Directive: Section 5, Article A.

Or, perhaps not. The creatures, as Impact observed them through his hidden interior optics, did not seem recognize him as a living being. They seemed to be simply curious, their own organic optics dancing around the Cybertronian’s metallic inner-chassis, speaking to each other via a language Impact did understand. Not yet, at least, as his translator function--a biological operation Cybertronians have yet to fully understand--kicked in and began to pick apart their speech, gestures, and tone and process it for his understanding. So far, their conversation seemed to be idle observations made while they poked around in the cramped space. Impact did his best not to move or make a sound. He predicted the creatures would soon get bored and leave, giving him ample opportunity to relocate.

While he waited, though, he took this opportunity to catalog their physical appearance. They were bipedal, standing only 1.5 meters in height. give or take. Their upper and lower limbs had elbows and knees, wrists and ankles. At each extremity, they had five phalanges, though the fingers were longer and more dexterous than their toes. They almost looked like Humans in their rough shape, but that is where the similarities ended. Their skin appeared to be smooth and membranous, kept moist, likely, by the intense humidity of the atmosphere. The color of their skin was nothing short of bizarre; one of them being yellow with countless thin black stripes that snaked and wove about, the other a muted cyan with oblong spots dotted randomly throughout that carried nearly every color of the visible light spectrum. The clothes they wore were scarce: flaps of leather-like material secured with strings and straps and adorned with all manner of baubles and small bones. Their eyes were large and glittery in appearance, with horizontal, “squished” obsidian pupils. Their mouths looked normal enough, until Impact caught a flash of dagger-like teeth, which indicated that they were carnivorous, and added a unnerving, predatory look to their otherwise innocent and harmless appearance. The nostrils were long slits that ran vertically between their gratuitous eyes. They dilated and contracted sporadically as they ferreted around the cabin. Hair-like tentacles ran down from the top and back of their heads to their shoulders. Subtle movements from them that didn’t match the sway of their bodies told him that they could be moved like a limb. This seemed to be the full extent of their exterior physiology, until one of them bumped into the other--likely by accident--and their skin involuntarily flashed a different color before returning to the previous pattern.

“Interesting,” though Impact. “Their pigmentation can change near-instantaneously.”

After they apologized to each other for the minor collision, the two stood there, nearly toe-to-toe, looking into each others alien eyes. This confused the Cybertronian, as they did not move for at least ten seconds. Then, the blue-skinned one slowly grasped the yellow one’s waist and pushed them both onto the cabin’s rigid seats. They both breathed heavily as their faces came together. Their head-tentacles wriggled and locked together as the two began pawing off each others clothes-

Impact switched his interior optics off. There were only a few things in the universe that he couldn’t tolerate. Several solar cycles of grueling training he could handle. Charging straight into enemy fire he could handle. The mating habits of the various organic species known to Cyber-kind he could not handle, and it was happening inside his alt-mode. Had he been capable of relinquishing the contents of a hypothetical stomach, he would have done so with great enthusiasm. Try as he might, his training and his duty to remain perceptive disallowed him to turn off his audio receivers. Because of his enhanced senses, he could hear every single... squish. Perhaps this was his punishment for being so careless, handed down directly from Primus on a grand, tungsten platter. With no knowing of how long this will carry out, he had no choice but to wait until they leave.

Hardly three nano-cycles passed after that thought ran through his head, he detected movement from behind. It was large, but silent. Its razor claws skimmed over the forest floor as it stepped closer towards him, the debris-ridden ground relenting under the immense weight of each footstep. A low, throaty growl cut through the air, easily audible to any within several meters, though any warning would have been utterly useless at this point. He could feel the organics’ blood in his interior go ice cold. He didn’t need his optics to know that they were both paralyzed with terror, their eyes wide and their breath trapped in their throats as they slowly peered out the door.

The beast came into view. A mere physical description in the Autobot’s report would have done it no justice. It’s bulging, glistening skin seemed to house more than just bone and tissue. Primal fury and an insatiable will to dominate exuded from every muscle contraction. Long, bony thorns covered its back, adding even more to its already imposing silhouette. Teeth capable of cleaving a large grazer in half with one bite. And the eyes, Primus, the eyes, they conjured an image of the Predacons of his home planet, vicious and indomitable. Four black, vertical slits, two in each glossy, bloodshot orb, pierced through his Spark. It was not looking at him, though. Rather, its attention was fixated upon the fragrant flesh that lay underneath his metal exterior. With a final, vicious growl, the beast dug its claws into the ground and shot forward like a mass slug out of a Rail Rifle. The sentients inside Impact began to scream.

There was no thought, no consideration, no second-guessing. Even with the heinous infraction of the Autobot Exploration Directive weight on his mind, and the consequences of breaking such regulations perfectly understood, Impact knew that inaction was a non-option.

Within a fraction of a moment, the back doors of his alt mode slammed shut, the engine roared to life, and all wheels began spinning. The beast seemed to be taken by complete surprise by the sudden motion of a previously-thought inanimate object. That, and the moist soil and dead vegetation that once resided on the forest floor spat from underneath the rugged tires, blinding the creature and causing it to shield its eyes. It slowed down to clean the debris from its face while the vehicle rolled off into the forest.

The two organics in the truck were no less surprised at the turn of events, but they did not have time to process it. From the moment the floor lurched underneath them, the terrified and semi-clothed aliens were tossed and thrown about the cabin. The path the vehicle took offered no mercy. The forest floor was uneven, and it was thick with trees and other obstructions, so it wove and bounced fiercely, and without restraints to hold them in place, they floundered on the cold steel surface. Impact tapped into his higher mental functions and charted out a path that would merit the least amount of damage to the soft and vulnerable sentients. He analyzing the geometry of the ground and plotted the most linear route through the thick trunks of the trees. As far as he could tell, they weren’t seriously injured... yet.

His concentration was drawn away as an Energon-curdling roar came from behind. A glance through his rear optics revealed the beast, tearing its way towards the Autobot, bellowing primordial anger. It was fast, perhaps a bit faster than him. That wasn’t giving it much credit, for Impact hadn’t chosen his alt mode for its speed or agility. Rather, it was made for withstanding any munitions, short of an ion cannon, and traversing rugged terrain. While the turf played to the latter strength, it could not compete with the maneuvering capabilities of a native quadrupedal predator. Eventually, the Cybertronian surmised, it would catch up to him and decimate any chance of a clean escape.

But escaping was never Impact’s plan.

The vehicle continued to weave and bob with as much grace as a 4.3 metric ton hunk of metal on wheels could muster while the predator gradually closed the gap between them. The trees were beginning to thin out, and shafts of dim moonlight became larger and more apparent. The terrain became smoother, giving the dizzy and enervated organics along for the ride a chance to grab on to anything they could find--which happened to be the metal bars that served as seat restraints--and hold on for dear life. “Good,” thought Impact, “That’ll help.” The two were still dazed, but they managed to shout a few panic-laden words to each other. Impact still couldn’t quite understand what they were saying yet, but that was hardly relevant at this point. The beast was mere meters from his rear, panting haggardly through bared teeth. Its focus was utterly fixed upon his quarry, claws raking the earth, pushing itself to greater and longer bounds. Its muscles burned hot and its eyes’ double pupils were slits, gleaning with hunger and madness. The claws nearly brushed the rear bumper of the truck

It was at this moment that Impact chose to execute his plan. Suddenly, cobalt-colored thrusters burst to life under the vehicle’s chassis, lifting it from the ground in a blast of scorched dirt and searing energy. As it began to soar through the air, it rolled to the right, shifting it from its prior path. The bipeds inside let out a scream as weightlessness took hold. To their credit, they held fast to the bars through white-knuckled grips, eyes clenched tight. The Autobot’s thrusters were silenced as he let inertia do the rest. Time seemed to slow down as the vehicle neared the completion of the roll and the ground came rushing up to meet him. It landed rather gracelessly, but the suspension absorbed most of the shock. The aliens inside, thankfully, were no worse for wear, though they seemed to have lost the strength to continue screaming. The predator, however, was busy blinking away burnt dirt from its eyes. Once its sight was restored, it began to search, again, for its quarry.

...Only to have its vision obscured by a fast-approaching tree.

Its reaction time, as nimble as it was, could not possibly save it at the velocity it was traveling. The beast tried to turn and dig its claws into the ground and ended up connecting with the thick mast with its side, sending the sound of a sickening crack reverberating through the forest. Avians for kilometers around took flight from their perches from the sudden noise. Impact swerved and came to a stop, looking on to the unmoving form that lay beside the tree, which now showed a clear sign of damage from the impact. He waited, his engine now quiet, and a tense silence took hold of the air.

The form twitched, and Impact’s mind raced with disbelief. It seemed that the creature was much more tenacious than he would have ever given it credit for. Indeed, it slowly lifted itself from the ground, joints audibly popping back into place. Its eyes were practically crimson at this point and its mouth was dripping foam and spittle. It was weaker, but it was also angrier than ever before. It was clear that this beast was not going to be dissuaded from its task, no matter how much resistance it met, no matter how paltry its reward would be. Sluggishly, it fixed its gaze back on Impact and began to take its first steps towards its metallic opponent.

“Time to take care of him the old-fashioned way,” the Autobot surmised. The organics in his alt-mode staggered to their feet, half-naked, clutching their heads and groaning in pain. The back doors clicked and swung open at once.

“Out!” Impact bellowed in Cybertronian, as his translator had not yet divined that word. Though there was no way the sentients could have understood it, they took the cue, scooped up their discarded clothes that were scattered about the interior, and stumbled out the back. As soon as they were clear, the doors, once again, slammed shut. An arcane noise emanated from the wheeled vehicle they had just exited, followed by more strange clanks and whirrs. After putting a fair amount of distance between them and it, the bipeds turned their heads to witness something that made them almost forget about the present danger and forced them to stare in awe.

The metal form began to change, dramatically. Panels split and shifted. Hinges bent and joints twisted. Segments detached and reattached themselves. A new shape began to take from as previously hidden parts were revealed. Something that resembled a leg and a foot swung into sight and planted itself on the ground, then another. The dark, silvery form stood up with a low groan, towering over the bewildered, fleshy duo, as a pair of arms folded out from a pair of bulky shoulders. Fingers snaked out, segment by segment, and curled into tightly-packed fists. A torso formed, shifting and flexing with the fluidity of a being of sinew and muscle, but with no sign of warm skin. A head revealed itself, and a face formed upon it. Thin cables protruded from the top of the skull like hair, tied back in a ponytail, swinging with his ponderous motion. Eyes glowed a harsh white and his expression was fixed in a neutral frown. The metal man brought his hand to his neck and flung out a clinking necklace to rest on his broad chest. Finally, with mechanical precision abberant of his hulking figure, he withdrew a pair of circular, goggle-like shades and placed them upon his eyes, allowing them to clamp themselves to his face.

The predator seemed unfazed by the transformation, even though Impact now stood at least twice its height. It continued to lumber forward, gradually picking up speed. The Autobot turned his head to glance back at the organics. They stood, partially concealed by the thick trunk of a nearby tree, looking on at the metal giant that stood before them with bewildered, alien eyes. Assured that they were relatively safe, he reared to face-

Impact was suddenly thrown backwards as the predator crashed into his side. Despite its injuries and the energy expended during its chase, the thing managed to close the distance faster than Impact could have imagined. No organic being known to Cyber-kind could push this hard and walk away without permanent injuries. It must be truly desperate for sustenance, or inflicted with some sort of killing madness, as the absence of grazers in the area indicated. The Autobot found his footing and began to push back, but not before his back hit the towering tree directly behind him, causing the trunk to groan and sway ominously and compelling the two smaller organics to find new cover. The beast snapped and snarled centimeters from his face, its teeth clacking together with audible sharpness. A super-reinforced bevor articulated itself into position along his collar and a steely faceguard clamped over his mouth. His neutral demeanor gave way to battlelust and Impact let loose a hellish roar. Thrusters fired from his back, blackening the tree at his back, and threw the beast off him. It recovered almost immediately, but by that time, the Autobot drew his hammer from his hip and took a swing.

The weapon connected with the face of the beast with the force of a meteor, shattering its jaw like glass. The creature stumbled backwards and gurgled out a howl of pain, but Impact offered it no mercy. The handle of his hammer suddenly lengthened to allow for a two-handed grip. Using the follow-up from his first swing, he struck his foe again, this time, even harder. Again, it attempted to recover, but each time it did, it was met with another collision from the hefty mallet. Over and over, Impact swung, and each hit was met with a meaty crunch. Hot anger continued to build in his skull, threatening to overtake his systems, but he barred it, captured it, and channeled into each vicious attack. This creature would soon know why the remaining Decepticons in the galaxy feared his name.

At once, the onslaught ceased. The predator battled to stay on its feet, its double-slit vision was a haze of blood and blackness. It lifted its head in a paltry attempt to renew its assault, only to witness the final blow. Impact shifted his footing, lifted the hammer high above his head, and tightened his grip. Abruptly, the head of the hammer erupted with three gouts of blue flame. They were powerful thrusters, the same kind installed along his body that acted on his neural input, and they gave the weapon the necessary propulsion for an apocalyptic underswing. The rocket-propelled mallet struck the beast square in the chest. With a yelp, it was sent soaring across the clearing, before bouncing once, twice, and finally rolling to a stop.

If the creature was still alive after that punishment, it gave no sign. The prone form lay there as the ever-present forest debris that was kicked up fell around it and settled. Even if it survived, Impact surmised, it could not feed with a broken jaw, and would soon die anyway. Either way, the threat was eliminated. The Autobot allow his body to relax and disperse the heat it built up during the hectic encounter. The shaft his hammer retracted, and he stored the weapon back on his hip. He then scanned his surroundings for any sign of the smaller organics, concerned for their safety. He had not controlled that battle as well as he should have, a failure on top of prior failures, of which he was acutely aware of. It seemed that today had been nothing but a string of deplorable events. If he had any belief in superstition, he would have taken this as a sign that such impalpable powers were displeased with him. But, he did not allow himself to muse on such things, and concluded that this ruinous day can only be indemnified by taking greater care in the future.

Thankfully, the organics were nearby, and they cautiously relinquished themselves from cover. They stared, wide eyed, at Impact’s bipedal body with a mix of wonder and fear, their strange, alien skin subtly shifting colors. The cyan one was the first to speak. He--or she, Impact could not yet tell--stammered out something to the effect of, “You... saved us?”

“Yes,” Impact said in their language as his faceguard and bevor retracted. The pair seemed shocked at the fact that this, what must have amounted to them, aberration could speak in their tongue. But, as he observed them, they seemed to be concerned with something else. Their gaze fell to the ground before the Cybertronian’s feet, and the yellow one’s hands clasped over his or her mouth in horror. Confused, Impact looked down.

Blue, glowing fluid streamed from four long, jagged gashes along his chest. The hot liquid lay in an alarmingly large pool on the ground around him, and it only grew larger with each passing moment.

“Frag...” Impact croaked before all feeling left his limbs and his knees crashed onto the Energon-soaked ground. Blackness, cold and bitter, stole his vision, and he knew no more.


	3. Chapter 3

Ri’tori was at a loss as to what to do. The young Khalam only wanted to show her lover a wondrous location that she had discovered in a scroll. Such a place would have been perfect to share her feelings with Fusahs, without the scrutiny of the public or the law. She was confident that it was well worth the risk of trekking through the Shadowgrove at night, when it was the most dangerous, and for a great distance, for their intended destination was no small walk from their home village. However, she had no means of predicting that their outing would cross paths with a lone Fangbeast, which resided in packs to the far west. They were not forest creatures; they roamed grassy plains and hunted much larger prey than any of the comparatively paltry ones that resided here. While the Shadowgrove did hold predators that were dangerous in their own right, Ri’tori knew tricks to avoid them. A Fangbeast, however, was living death to anything that did not fly or swim, and not even the brazen Skyhunter-in-training could claim otherwise. So, when the double-slit eyes fell on her and Fusahs’, she knew that, with a sickening sense of shame in her gut, she had led them both to their deaths.

But then, something of a miracle happened. The strange, metal house that they entered out of curiosity (and remained in for want of... _privacy_ ) suddenly roared to life and whisked them to safety, away from the certain death the beast would have dealt with enthusiasm.

That was a lie. Not the “away from certain death” part, which was evident, as they were still intact and breathing the frigid, moist air of the Shadowgrove. The lie was the “whisked” part, for their mysterious savior rather _manhandled_ them out of that situation. Ri’tori could feel bumps, bruises, and scrapes formed where her soft tissue violently connected with the harsh surfaces that lined the interior of the vehicle, and they all hurt. A quick glance at her companion confirmed that Fusahs had, indeed, accumulated similar signs of abuse. All things considered, though, no bones were broken and they could still stand, a fact that would have been comforting, if not for the burning, throbbing sensation assaulting practically every inch of her body. Considering that the alternative was an even more painful demise, she allowed herself to be thankful.

But to whom, exactly? She remembered that, after the rough ride through the forest, they were deposited at the edge of a clearing. Ri’tori then intended to throw her clothes back on, grab Fusahs, and run as fast as she could in the opposite direction, towards the safety of the village, never to speak of this incident again. But, as she was hopping back into her breechcloth, she turned around and saw something that caused her jaw to drop. The chariot that they, moments ago, resided in, _transformed._ It changed into a towering giant that looked similar to a Khalam, with arms, legs, and a face, but was made of metal. _Metal!_ It continued to baffle Ri’tori, as all facets of common sense told her that _metal could not move!_ Yet, the giant did so, and not only that, but battled with the Fangbeast... and won.

No, that remained to be seen, as the once-mighty steel goliath lay before the duo in a large puddle of glowing, blue liquid. It was motionless.

“Is... Is he dead?” Surprisingly, it was Fusahs who broke the long silence, as Ri’tori was still standing with a blank expression, attempting to process the events that led to this moment. Her companion’s question temporarily brought the cyan one out of her stupor.

“Dead? I... I don’t know...” Ri’tori stammered. “Can metal even die?”

“He’s bleeding... a lot!” Fusahs exclaimed, and began to take a step towards the fallen figure.

“Wait!” She held up an arm, blocking her yellow-and-black mate from advancing any further. Ri’tori didn’t know why, but she had a gut feeling that the luminescent fluid that lay pooled around the giant could harm them. Her nostrils dilated as she took in the scent. The alarming, acrid odor that hit her olfactory senses caused her skin to shift color and her tentacles to writhe involuntarily. She _definitely_ didn’t want anyone to go near it.

“It smells like poison,” The huntress said. Truth be told, it smelled unlike anything she encountered before, but it was better to be safe than sorry. She knew the other Khalam was a healer by trade, and had a natural propensity to help the injured and the sick, and nothing hurt her more than to watch someone or something suffer and be unable to do anything about it. While Ri’tori would like nothing more than to give aid to their protector, she had no idea what manner of creature lay before them, and she doubted Fusahs’ admittedly ample knowledge of medicine could even begin to apply.

“We need to help him somehow!” The healer asserted. “He saved our lives!”

She had a point, so Ri’tori put a slender fist to her chin and rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet and desperately tried to conjure a solution in her mind. They couldn’t get near the giant--who, according to Fusahs, was a _him_ \--due to his potentially harmful blood. They couldn’t move him. One would probably have more luck uprooting a tree with one’s bare hands. They... they couldn’t get help from the village, because then they’d start asking questions as to why she and Fusahs traveled into the Shadowgrove in the first place. Besides, her fellow villagers would just as easily burn the giant for no better reason than it was unfamiliar, then hack apart his body for the precious metal. She began to grit her pointy teeth and erratically run her fingers through her head-tentacles. Her skin began to take on reddish hues in frustration. All this thinking was starting to hurt her head. Ri’tori was but a simple hunter who strove to be a Skyhunter. She knew how to set a snare, make a spear, fletch an arrow, and hit a moving target 20 body-lengths away, but she just wasn’t mentally equipped to make make decisions of this magnitude. She wasn’t a know-it-all scholar like-

An idea hit her so hard it nearly knocked the wind out of her.

“Fus!” The huntress grasped her mate’s shoulders with renewed urgency. “I need you to stay with him. I’m going to get Tiimala. She’ll know what to do.”

Fusahs saw the logic in her companion’s plan, but she wasn’t completely convinced.

“You’re going to leave me here, alone?”

“I...” Ri’tori hesitated as her lover gave her a soulful look. “Someone needs to stay with him, and I can move much faster through this forest than you. I’ll be back in no time, I promise.”

The healer swallowed hard, but nodded. “Alright,” she spoke softly. “But what if something else comes along?”

“Just stay near his blood, but not too close. Nothing here would want to get near it.”

With that, Ri’tori turned away and broke into a brisk run, leaping over ditches and exposed roots, heading back to the village to retrieve their friend.

* * *

_“...You are Berzerkers, the boldest and bravest warriors ever forged on Cybertron...”_

_“...We are brothers, Impact! Brothers to the end...!”_

_“...We’re getting you out of here, Purge...”_

_“...The Autobot cause is false! We were LIED to...!”_

_“...Do you even feel anything, anymore...?”_

Impact jerked awake as a rush of energy poured into his neural cortex. He cycled the shutters on his optics as his glitching vision sought to regain focus. There was a faint glow directly in front of him, one that seemed to swim and mingle with spots of black and brown. The image finally became sharper, and he could make out what it was.

It was liquid Energon. _His_ Energon.

There was only one reason he was still alive and not a cold, metal husk. In his body, located right under the back of his neck, was a charge of concentrated, high-octane Energon, programmed to activate in the event of a critical systems failure. Such an augmentation was one of many in his chassis, but also the most complex and, possibly, most important. Up to this moment, he had never been forced to use it, and he was infinitely thankful to the unknown Cybertronian who engineered it. Unfortunately, Impact noted with renewed urgency, the module did not give him immortality; it only gave him a scant few moments of extra time. Bleeding out was still a _very_ real possibility.

Resolute, but still cautious, he forced his right arm to move. His limbs felt like they were made of solid lead, and his impetus was met with immeasurable resistance. His knuckles came dragging along the Energon-slogged ground with a pitiful whine of servos. The simple motion was made excruciating as his life-fluid continued to dribble out of the gaping wounds on his chest, further diminishing his chances of survival. Finally, his lower arm was perpendicular with the ground, and the palm of his hand was rested against it. Gathering his strength, he gave a push.

Searing pain erupted throughout his system, robbing him of any other thought. He could not stifle the cry of agony that tore from his voice-emitter. Impact grit his teeth and forced his pain-centers to shut down temporarily and continued to push. His body was gradually lifted from the earth as a slurry of dirt, dead vegetation, and luminescent fluid cascaded off his carapace. Each second felt like a mega-cycle, and each centimeter of travel became harder and harder, until finally, gravity took the reigns and Impact rolled onto his back.

The Autobot allowed himself a split-second of relief, but his job wasn’t done yet. His left hand scrabbled across his thigh until he found the button-release for a compartment. It hissed open, and from it he withdrew a sizable, nondescript metal box. He struggled to bring his hands together with the purpose of opening the container. His actuators trembled, trying and failing to draw enough energy to function properly. With much fumbling, Impact managed to open the box. Inside were a number of foil-like strips and four vials of the same high-octane Energon that saved his life, designed to be injected directly into his body. He removed one of the strips and pressed it between a pair of shivering digits. The object suddenly came to life, and with a series of barely audible whirrs, unfolded itself until it was a small sheet of shimmering squares.

Essentially, it was a field-dressing. When placed on an open wound, it would automatically transform and fit itself on the breach, sealing the Energon inside. Impact slapped it on his chest and it began working immediately, shifting and folding, binding itself to his metal skin. He already knew that one wouldn’t be enough, so he was already in the process of withdrawing another bandage as the first one worked. By the time the gashes were properly covered, he had gone through his entire supply; a supply that was supposed to last him the entire duration of his mission. The dressings would work in tandem with his self-repairing system and, in time, would become one with his body, but the scars would still be visible until he was properly repaired. For now, though, the danger of bleeding out has passed. He was still too weak to return to his campsite, but that was what the vials were for.

Impact was just about to reach for the first of the brightly-glowing tubes of emergency Energon when he realized that he wasn’t alone. His head snapped to one side to witness, standing scant meters from his head, one of the sentient lifeforms he saved from the predator. It was the yellow and black-striped one, and it stood there, wide-eyed and obviously leery of the Autobot. Where the other one was, he could not discern. He hoped to Primus that he didn’t crush one of them when he collapsed.

“Hello,” Impact managed to rasp in the native’s language. The sentient flinched, but after a pause, gave a reply with an uncertain wave of a hand.

“H-hi...”

The Autobot continued, despite the fact that the rush of energy from his built-in Energon reserve was beginning to wear off.

“Where... other...?”

It took a moment for the sparse question to register, but when it did, the native glanced towards the treeline and pointed.

“...Went to get help!”

Impact’s body jerked involuntarily, causing the organic to leap backwards in surprise.

“No!” he croaked. “No one else... can be told... of me!”

The native had no way of knowing what the Autobot Exploration Directive was, nor its guideline specifically disallowing direct contact with sentient species who were not sufficiently technologically advanced. These creatures haven’t even discovered electricity yet! If his presence was made known throughout an entire civilization, it would be catastrophic. Impact wanted to explain himself in more detail, but the meager collection of words his translator function had insofar gathered wouldn’t cut it. It would have to take his word on it. Thankfully, the creature seemed to understand.

“It’s okay,” it said. “Ri’tori went to only get Tiimala! No one else!”

Impact wasn’t technically relieved to hear it, but he took solace in the idea that the knowledge of his existence on this planet could be contained to three individuals.

_“Ri’tori...”_ The name echoed in his head. Such a strange name, nothing like the names of Cybertron, or even the names of Earth. It fit their language, which sounded like flowing water with its long, sing-song vowels and terse consonants. It was also a harsh contrast to the sharp, machine tones of Cybertronian, which, as Transformers have discovered, were difficult for other alien races to try and pronounce. He attempted to translate his own name into the native’s language, but could not discern the word. Impact needed to build trust with this creature. He was immobile and still in danger of blacking out again, and the last thing he needed was an angry mob of aliens bearing down on him. He opted to speak his name in English, the favored language of the Humans.

“Impact.”

“What...?” The native furrowed its brow in confusion.

_“Too blunt,”_ the Autobot thought, and tried again. “I am Impact.”

The alien widened its eyes when understanding took hold.

“Eeem... paahct...” It fumbled with the word and repeated it a few times, and then it smiled broadly.

“I am Fusahs,” the native said as it put its hand over its chest. “Fusahs Shaelasarahsa.”

_“Quite the surname,”_ the Autobot noted. He tried the name for himself.

“Fusahs Shaelasarahsa.” The name was spoken perfectly and without any hesitation as the organic may have experienced with his comparatively pithy name, which may explain why an expression of surprise crossed Fusahs’ face. That was the advantage of the efficient linguistic skills programmed directly into every Cybertronian’s body.

The alien seemed like it wanted to say something, but jumped as the digits gripping Impact’s emergency kit suddenly failed and the container clanked on his chest. It then tumbled off his body and landed on the ground just above his shoulder, spilling the Energon vials. The Autobot almost swore out-loud and immediately attempted to reach for them, but the fatigue from a lack of Energon in his system was beginning to incapacitate him. The motion failed and his arm flopped to the ground. His vision phased in and out as darkness started to creep in once again. He willed himself to stay powered on.

“Urrrg...” Impact attempted to reach for the vials once again, blindly, as they rolled out of his line of sight. Pawing for them, he finally grasped something and pulled it towards him. It came with a high-pitched yelp, which sent a jolt of dread through him. Fortunately, it turned out that the native had taken initiative and rolled one of the Energon charges closer to him, but got its clothes caught between the cylinder and the Autobot’s massive finger. It dangled from one of the straps of its dress, legs floundering in the empty air.

“Sorry,” Impact muttered weakly, and released the organic. It dropped a short distance before landing on his metal body. It landed gracelessly, but unharmed. The Autobot opened an access port at the base of his neck and brought the vial to it. It connected, and with what remained of his strength, he gave it a twist. Immediately, another burst of energy surged through his system, rejuvenating his motor functions and restoring his vision to its full capacity. Even though it was enough to keep him from blacking out, he would likely need to use the remaining charges to have enough energy for the trip back to his camp. As the golden fluid finished draining into his body, Impact looked to the one who helped him in his time of need--albeit in a small way--still idly sitting on his chest.

“Thank you,” he stated.

Fusahs offered no verbal response. It merely beamed warmly at him, as if it lived for nothing else.

* * *

Tiimala Saraj’s eye bolted open at the sudden noise. She continued to lay in her bed, fighting the sleep-induced delirium that caused her to forget the time, the day, and what she was supposed to do in the morning. Was she late for something? Did she forget to send a report to Her Majesty?! Did she-

The noise came again. Tiimala now knew what it was. Someone was rapping on the large, wooden door of the library she made her home in. Well, it was less than a library and more of an informal repository of information she needed for her studies. Scrolls, books, maps, tomes, any form of written information was collected, ordered, or otherwise obtained and brought to her spacious abode. There, she studied them, annotated them, and kept them for future reference. It started out small, but grew rather quickly. She even let other villagers borrow her research material for their own use, as long as they promised to bring them back. In a sense, that would make her house a library-

The frantic knock came a third time. Tiimala decided it was time to get up. She threw the blankets off her body, giving way to the rush of cool night air. Shivering, she threw on a gown and hurried down the stairs to the main floor. She passed shelf after shelf of haphazardly-organised books and stacks of parchment. They fluttered in her wake. She reached the bottom of the staircase and navigated through the veritable maze of writing desks, book piles, and other furnishings, coming closer to the door. A fourth knock resounded. Whoever was on the other end must have an incredibly urgent reason to disturb her at such a late hour.

_“And they had better,”_ thought Tiimala as she blinked the weariness out of her two regular eyes. She was certain that she had some appointment in the morning, or a deadline. Something. She needed to check her planner, but whatever it was, this lack of sleep will most certainly hinder her ability to work at her full capacity.

She finally arrived at the door, just as the fifth knock began. She slid the tempered-iron deadbolt, gripped the handle, and heaved it open.

“Ri’tori?” The librarian uttered upon the sight of her cyan friend.

“Hiya, ‘Mala. Heh...”

Tiimala attempted to adjust her eyesight to the low light. The huntress was out of breath, panting with her hands resting on her knees. Her face was glossy with perspiration.

“What...” the scholar stammered. “What are you doing? Why are you here so late?”

“It’s a long... story...” Ri’tori said between breaths. She stood upright. “I need... your help.”

It was in that moment that Tiimala caught sight of the state of her companion’s body. Her eyes went wide. Bruises, cuts, and scrapes bespeckled her where her flesh was visible. She also noticed that some of her clothing was damaged as well.

“You’re hurt! What the heck happened?!”

Ri’tori put her finger to her mouth and shushed. “That’s part of the story, but I’m alright.”

Tiimala wasn’t satisfied. “Let me look into it.”

The scholar held her open palm out towards her friend, closed her eyes, and began to open her parietal eye-

“No!” The huntress blurted, interrupting Tiimala. “Er, I mean, I’m fine. Really. Look, I need your help and we don’t have a lot of time. Get your clothes on and find some books on... metal stuff. We need to hurry!”

“Woah, woah, wait a minute,” the librarian began. “You’re being frustratingly vague. ‘Metal stuff?’ What’s that supposed to mean? What’s going on?”

Ri’tori’s eyes shifted from side to side as she bit her bottom lip. “Alright, alright. I, well, Fus and I went on a... er... little walk. Through the forest.”

Tiimala’s nostrils flared. “You went into the Shadowgrove?!”

The huntress shushed her friend more fiercely than before, scanning her immediate vicinity with a few quick turns of her head.

“Okay, yeah, we went into the Shadowgrove. Skewer me, whydoncha? But, that’s not the reason I came here.”

“Where’s Fusahs?” Tiimala suddenly inquired.

“Please, Tii,” Ri’tori pled. “I really, _really_ need your help!”

The librarian was irritated with the brazen Khalam’s evasiveness, but she saw the sincerity in her look, and furrowed her brow in defeat.

“Alright. Let me get my things.” She turned away with intent to gather her clothes, her shoes, and her book bag. Ri’tori sighed a breath of relief.

“And,” Tiimala paused and added. “I’ll get a couple books on... metal stuff...”


End file.
